


just keep drawing up the plans

by stillscape



Series: for the life of me [2]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Archie/Jughead friendship times, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-21 20:20:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11364900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillscape/pseuds/stillscape
Summary: A missing scene from chapter 5, told from Archie's perspective this time.This will not make much sense unless you've read the first work in this series.





	just keep drawing up the plans

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from Weezer's "Photograph." 
> 
> This is the fault of several people on tumblr, but not (for once) Diaphenia.

Archie clears his throat a little, preparing himself to ask what he _knows_ is a dumb question.

“Hey, so...I know the e-vite said no presents. But I should still get Betty something for her birthday, right?” 

“You know her better than I do,” Jughead replies. 

They’re walking from school to Archie’s house, although Jughead’s taking them on a slight detour through downtown Riverdale today. 

“Yeah, but…” 

It’s like this. 

Betty doesn’t say things she doesn’t mean. Archie knows this about her. Betty’s invitation said no presents. But also, Betty loves birthdays (in general, not just her own). Archie also knows this about her. He knows darn well she would never let _his_ birthday pass without giving him something, even if he’d said not to. So he feels like he should reciprocate, even if she said not to get her anything. Even if Betty is not the kind of girl to play weird head games with anyone. 

After all the years that they’ve been friends, it feels like he ought to have a definite answer to this question, not just a gut instinct. Since he doesn’t, he asks another question. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Argosy.” 

This does not ring a bell. 

“What’s Argosy?” 

“Argosy Books. The used bookstore.” 

“Oh.” 

For the first time, Jughead slows down. “You did know Riverdale had a used bookstore, right? It’s been there for literally our entire lives.” 

“Of course I knew that,” Archie says, trying not to sound annoyed. “I just didn’t remember that that was the name of it.” 

“It’s heaven on earth. Or it would be, if the books were free and they let me bring food in.” 

As they arrive at the shop, Archie finds he has one more question. “Why are we going there now?” 

There’s a slightly quizzical look on Jughead’s face as he reaches for the doorknob. 

“To get Betty a birthday present, of course.” 

That answers more than one question. If Jughead’s getting Betty a birthday present, then Archie definitely has to. And wants to. 

He has absolutely no idea what this present should be, and her party is tomorrow. 

“Why didn’t you just say you were getting her something in the first place?” 

Jughead shrugs. “Dramatic effect?” He pushes the door open. A little bell tinkles, a stream of sunlight shoots through to the floor, and Archie steps over the threshold of Riverdale’s oldest (and only) used book store for what he’s pretty sure is the first time in his life. 

His first impression is that it smells weird. 

His second impression is that there are a lot of books. The store’s not that big, but it is absolutely crammed. Books on shelves. Books on the floor. Books on tables. Books on other books. 

There are a _lot_ of books. 

Jughead obviously has spent time here, although he doesn’t seem to know exactly where he’s going or what he’s looking for. 

“Don’t pull anything out from a bottom shelf until you’ve investigated the structural integrity of the overall pile,” he advises. “I learned that one the hard way.” 

Archie nods. “Noted.” 

“They have some music books in the back, if you want to look,” Jughead offers, pointing at a corner. 

For some reason, Archie gets the feeling he’s being dismissed. But…he’d rather look at the music section than literary fiction, which is where Jughead seems to be heading. 

The section isn’t huge, but Archie browses for a bit anyway, wishing he was better at reading music. When he’s exhausted his interest, he goes back to literary fiction—but Jughead’s not there anymore, so Archie heads down another aisle, and then another, until he spies a familiar grey beanie in the cookbooks section. On the way there, he passes a small section on fitness and personal training, and decides to look through those a little—Jughead seems occupied. 

A minute later, Jughead shoves past him, not even seeming to notice he’s there. He’s back in literary fiction, staring hard at a certain spot. Then he goes back to cookbooks. 

It occurs to Archie that Betty likes both reading and baking. 

“Hey, Jughead?” Jughead looks up. “Do you think _I_ should get Betty a book for her birthday?” 

“I thought you always got her picture frames.” 

“No, that’s just for Christmas. I get her different things for her birthday.” 

“Okay.” 

“So should I get her a book this year?” Archie does not add _and if so, what_ , but Jughead seems to sense the question anyway. 

He looks thoughtfully at Archie for a good long while. 

“Yeah,” he says, at last. He grabs something from the cookbook shelf and tucks it under his arm, then beckons for Archie to follow him. They arrive back at literary fiction, where Jughead extracts a book from the spot he was examining so intently before. “This one,” he says, handing it over with what almost sounds like a sigh. 

The book is a dusty old hardcover—though, Archie supposes, dusty and old is about all you can expect in a used bookstore. _The Bluest Eye_. It does not look like an object that belongs in Betty’s bedroom. 

Suddenly, all the dots connect. “Oh, right,” he says, “Betty loves Toni Morrison. Do you think she’s read this one?” 

Jughead shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. Trust me.” 

He does, but. “Why doesn’t it matter?” 

“Because that’s a first edition.” 

This seems reasonable enough. Archie hasn’t actively collected comics in a while, and though he was never a snob about it when he did, he gets the original edition thing. (His comics are boarded and bagged, sure—but only because Jughead insisted they should be and then did it himself.)

They pay for the books and then head back to Archie’s house. 

“How’d the picture frame thing start, anyway?”

The question comes out of nowhere. Archie feels his brow furrow, but decides not to ask why Jughead is fixated on picture frames today. 

“I think I was just in her bedroom a lot when we were kids, and it seemed like—well, you know what Betty’s room is like.” 

He gets an eyebrow. “I’ve never been in Betty’s bedroom.” 

“Really?” 

“I mean, maybe at some point in my life. But I don’t have any conscious memories of what it looks like, other than the part of it you can see from your window.” 

“Oh. Well, Betty loves photos. She has them everywhere, always has. So, I just thought…” He shrugs. “And she liked the first one a lot. And then the next year—I think it was the next year—she was really into _Tangled_ but her mom wouldn’t buy any of the merchandise, so I got her a _Tangled_ picture frame.”

“And then it was just a thing,” Jughead finishes, which for some reason stings. 

“It’s not _just_ a thing,” Archie mutters, though he can’t think of any definitive evidence to the contrary, other than that he’s sure it’s not. 

Once they’re at the house, they decide to go ahead and wrap their purchases. 

(It’s like this: Archie is somehow certain that Jughead’s family doesn’t keep wrapping paper around. He knows a roll of wrapping paper is not a huge expense, but it seems like one he could easily spare his friend.) 

A thought occurs to him as he’s cutting his piece of paper. “Hey, uh…” 

Jughead doesn’t look up. He’s been staring at the inside cover of the cookbook, holding a pen. “Hmm?” 

“If you give Betty a birthday present now,” Archie asks, slowly, “isn’t she going to want to give you one?” 

The slightest bit of doubt flickers across Jughead’s face, and he almost—maybe—sighs. Then he quickly scribbles something on the first page of the book. 

“Yeah, well.” He flips the cookbook’s cover shut with a bit of a flourish. “As long as _you_ don’t tell her when it is, I should be safe.”


End file.
